The Mad Bladesmith Behind the World's Greatest Kitchen Knives

Bob Kramer is a craftsman, in the most practical sense of the word. He is a man who lets his work and its product guide him more than the whims of the market. And though he is perfectly genial and even-tempered on the exterior, one can detect, in the content of his words and the quest he embarked on decades ago to possess the authority to say them, an obsession, one that surpasses the curiosity and passion most of us can muster for anything, and which has produced, one hand-forged block of steel at a time, the finest kitchen knives in the world, probably in history, tools that will last a lifetime, and long after that.

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Thomas Keller owns a Bob Kramer knife. Charlie Palmer owns one, too. Mario Batali owns several. At $200 an inch, even Kramer's most bog-standard models cost more per inch than many highly reviewed mass-production knives cost in total. And if you want it in Bob's signature Damascus patterned steel (more on that later), that's $500…an inch. To take one of the most common ores in the earth and transform it into something with the preciousness and price tag of the finest crystal or china takes some truly special work.

In ancient Syria, Damascus steel was legendary for its simultaneous hardness and soft, razor-sharp edge. "It was humanity's first super-clean steel," as Kramer calls it. The technique was lost to history, but was still long spoken of as having legendary and mythological properties: it could slice through a rifle barrel, for instance, or cut a hair falling across its edge. If you've ever wondered what inspired the magical, dragon-fired Valyrian steel in Game of Thrones, Damascus was it.

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The modern Damascus technique used by Kramer and others is different, but no less impressive. For his apex knives, Kramer takes two or more types of carbon tool steel into his forge, where it is stacked, heated, hammered, cut, restacked, and hammered again, until the billet that is to become the blade contains over 400 discrete, microscopic layers of metal, and is endowed throughout with swirling, flowing patterns like the grain in a block of wood. The pattern itself is largely for aesthetics, but the result of all this work is not.

When Kramer first entered the knife-making business, after a soul-searching journey that included a year touring with Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey circus, handmade knives were the provenance of outdoorsmen who needed durable, heavy duty Bowie knives for combating bears…or something. Kramer's work is innovative, but unlike most urban accoutrements with their roots in blue-collar craftsmanship, colorful artisan axes and "glamping gear," his knives aren't just for show. "It probably starts from an aesthetic perspective," he says. "Somebody sees the knife and likes the look and the story. But then they take it home and it's a different experience using that knife, that's probably more indelible than the first part. And that doesn't go away, and it continues to pay off over a long time. It's like the perfect sweatshirt, you love the way it feels."

Kramer's Damascus knives come only in carbon steel, which is a different animal from the stainless steel even more experienced home chefs are accustomed to. Properly maintained carbon steel will hold a sharper edge than any stainless model, but will rust and pit without cleaning, drying, and oiling. To get the most of it, one must care for it, treat it preciously, as an extension of the chef himself. I am the sword. This is my rifle. And so on. "We get lots of emails from people who buy a carbon knife and end up loving it," says Kramer. "They say it reminds them of grandpa."

These days, Kramer continues to experiment. "When I was pedal to the metal, making 8-inch carbon steel knives, I made maybe 200 knives a year," he says. "Last year, I made 30." Which is bad news for those who want a new kitchen centerpiece yesterday, but good for aficionados of the craft, who want to see the envelope pushed, sliced, and diced. "R&D takes a really long time," he says, "but it's what I feel like I was really born for."

In his workshop, Kramer is blending ever more permutations and remixes of carbon and steel and process. "I've been starting with raw materials, making small batches of really clean steel. I like the idea of sole authorship for my knives," he says, in the knifemaking world's equivalent of a farm-to-table sensibility. He's also begun making Southeast Asian ceremonial blades like the kris, a wavy, asymmetrical dagger. And what's the market for that kind of thing? "I have no idea if there is one," he laughs. But that's typical Bob Kramer, the ethos of a true craftsman: build something this lovely, and they will come.

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